Delirium
by ThatKaylaPerson
Summary: Just rescued, and put back into a prison already? This has to be some sort of sick, cruel trick. / Based in the time after the Capitol, Delirium follows Peeta during his time of recovery in District 13.
1. One

Author's Note: Hello everyone! First off, I'd like to start by saying, thank you for picking this story to read and I hope I don't let you down.

Secondly, I think there are a few things you should know before you dive in. This story will not be lighthearted. In fact, I'm kind of purposely making it as dark as possible. This first chapter is mostly short stuff, setting it up for later on, but I thought a warning was in order. If you want a happy Peeta, bounding through a field of flowers in slow motion as he runs to Katniss while she's carrying bread in her arms, then you got the wrong story and I suggest you go back and pick out a different one. Cause you're not going to get it here. But if you take this little taste test and you like it, give it a read! It's multiple chapters, so it's going to be a good long one.

Thirdly, this story WILL be following the plot line of Mockingjay. Basically, it's from the point where Peeta gets to District 13 onward, ending possibly somewhere before the epilogue. I haven't set it out completely. But all this story basically is Peeta's healing process from his rescue from the Capitol on. However, in following Mockingjay, there will be points in this story where I will take word for word from the book, which leads me to my forth point.

I OWN NOTHING! I can't stress that enough. All the characters, places, events, they don't belong to me. They belong to Suzanne Collins. I just happen to be a fan who borrows her characters and stretches them out to their fullest potential, telling (what I believe to be) other character's thoughts and stories. In this case, it just happens to be Peeta. However, I would like to point out that plagiary, as illegal as it may be, is considered the highest form of flattery. Hopefully if Ms. Collins ever graced this story with her presence, she would feel the same way.

So, without further ado, I bring you my latest project, Delirium. Please comment & enjoy!

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><p><strong>Delirium<strong>

I.

_Her_ name.

That's all they keep saying, repeating it over and over and over again. It's almost like it's on a recorder. It's _her_ name or nothing. I swear, I can almost hear it through the walls around me, someone speaking it, hissing it, whispering it at all times of the day. Just trying to make its way in.

_Katniss._

It just keeps beating against my eardrums, those two harsh syllables pounding one after another.

_Katniss._

That disgusting, horrible name that I hate above everything else.

_Katniss._

"JUST SHUT UP!"

My voice rings off the walls for a moment. Slowly, it dies off and leaves just a simple buzzing in the room, probably from the lights overhead or something monitoring me. I don't know which is worse, my old cell in the Capitol or this new place they have me in. The old cell, everything was dark and cold, only about half the size of the bakery. This room was, if possible, even smaller. The old cell had just had a door, a bed, a window that sometimes got some light, a toilet, and a small table. This one was nothing, but a door and pain of glass that covered a large section of a wall, probably with someone watching me on the other side. At least in the old cell, they weren't as obvious about it, just staring at me all day long. But even if that glass is tinted so I can't see their faces, I know they're still there.

But the worst part about this new place is the restraints. All day, all the time, I'm strapped down to this table or handcuffed or sedated. In fact, that's the only time I see people now a days, when a nurse or a doctor comes in to give me some kind of medicine to knock me out.

And the irony of it all is sickening. _I'm_ the one who is locked up and strapped down to a table, while _she_ is free to wander wherever she likes around this place. That's at least what one of the nurses said, talking to another one as they left the room. I'm treated like the danger. She's treated like she's a poor girl who just happens to be slightly unstable. I don't think they even realize that they have it backwards.

You see, I didn't know this for a long time either, but Katniss Everdeen…she's not what she appears to be. She is not just some girl from the Seam, poor, starving, and she's not a Victor either. The truth is she's something worse, the product of something horrible. There's no other way to describe it, no other way to put it into words.

She is a muttation, and not just any other muttation out there. She is worse. The regular muttations are bad enough, but her…it's a whole new level with her. Her face changes and twists and turns until it's almost completely unrecognizable. Her fingers slip into everything, poking and prodding, even piercing under the layers of my skin here and there. She can change her figure to suit the situation, blending into darkness and shadows to creep up on me in the night or even turning into fire, trying to burn me alive with her long, reaching, twisting fingers. I wake up from sleeping and hear her howls and screeches in the middle of the night, and when I go to look closer, her arms slip around me, her hands at my throat. Soon, I am pressed down and she's there, trying to push the last breaths out of my chest. And her arrows…they fly straight for my heart, stick me, and poison me with this horrible rotting feeling in my chest, a feeling that doesn't go away, just gets worse every time I see her, every time she's close.

She did all of this to me and yet I'm the one sedated and kept locked up in a room all hours of the day. When I try to explain myself, they don't even listen to me. They just shake their heads, write sometimes down, and stick me with more sedatives. Tell me, just where is the justice all of this? At least in the Capitol, you knew why they were doing things to you, you knew their reason. Here, none of what they do makes sense. It's complete insanity and would drive even the most stable person crazy.

I only have enough time to struggle against the straps on my wrists, reopening all the wounds I managed to pick up from the handcuffs in the Capitol when the door slides open, allowing a nurse and a doctor to step in. They both blend in with the walls, all in white, except their faces and nametags. Everything else is white. The nurse wheels a cart in and the doctor carries the standard clipboard. All of them have them, but it's only the really important doctors apparently that carry around mine or _her's_.

I catch a glimpse of the doctor's nametag. Dr. Lawson doesn't look too happy to be here, as he tucks a pen behind his ear and steps over to examine my wrist. He scuffs at me and shakes his head. "If you keep at this, Peeta, you're going to make it all worse that it has to be," he says.

"Well, maybe if you let me up, this wouldn't be as much of a problem," I snap back at him.

"You know we can't do that, Peeta. It's too dangerous, especially after what you did," he says, as he motions for the nurse to hang up some bag of fluid.

As the nurse slides a needle under my skin, my fists tighten up. "I should have finished the job," I mutter to myself bitterly.

I hear his sigh before I see his expression, but I know it's some form of disappointment. "And this is the reason we can't let you go. Violent tendencies are still there, meaning to do harm to Katniss Everdeen, harming yourself –"

And that is where I draw the line. "Harming myself? I am not harming myself! You're the ones that are doing the harm with these stupid straps and meds! I was perfectly fine when you brought me here, not trying to hurt myself in any way and I wasn't strapped down to a table then, was I?"

Dr. Lawson stops to consider this for a moment, before sighing again and shaking his head. He pulled his pen back into his hand and started to mark something down on his clipboard, before looking at me again. "We'll consider it, Peeta, but honestly with your attitude and your outbursts, you can't expect us to trust you on your own. You'll have to prove yourself. Either way, you're not getting free while we're in here right now, so you might as well quit struggling and let us do our check-up."

It's hard to stifle the groan welling up in my throat as I lay my head back and stare up at the ceiling. More needles, more fluids, more tubes, more monitors. It's almost never ending. They keep me stabilized with these needles, fluids, tubes, and monitors, but it's not actually living. It's sustaining and irritating for that matter. In fact, going on my short nerves, it's even more irritating when I see the nurse pull out a syringe.

"What are you giving me now? Something that makes me silent? Paralyzes me? Makes me sleep forever?" I ask.

"Nothing," Dr. Lawson answers. He holds his hand out and exchanges the nurse his clipboard for the syringe. "We're actually taking blood samples this time. The first ones were…inconclusive. We wanted to take another just to be sure, so we're going to run a few more." He reaches down and takes my arm, turning it over. Naturally, I hiss in pain. They only seem interested in taking blood from my bad arm. That strange lump may be gone, but that didn't mean it still didn't hurt. And of course, they needle goes into my skin right around the area where the lump had been. Still, I bite my lip and keep silent, trying my hardest to ignore the needle and the new hole it has made in my body. The samples are taken, and the tension is relaxed from my arm. "Your arm still hurts?" the doctor asks as the samples are bagged and exchanged.

"Yes. Especially when you're poking more holes in it," I answer back with a bit of a snap. "What are these tests going to be for?"

"Check your levels, mostly. It's nothing to be worried about, Peeta," he says, turning away from me. As I watch him take his clipboard back, I silently hope in the back of my head for a different doctor next time. This one, I don't like at all. He doesn't look at me, not once, at least not at my face, and he keeps saying my name as if that puts him on some sort of personal level with me. More and more, I hate this place and everyone in it.

The nurse puts the samples onto her tray, Dr. Lawson gets his clipboard back, and suddenly, they are both done, just like that, just like they changed the sheets on the bed and nothing more. They turn away from the bed and immediately, I try to sit up which is impossible with the strap across my chest, but I still manage to lift my head up. "Wait! Take these off me! Now!"

Dr. Lawson stops and glances back, sighing. "I told you, Peeta. We can't. Just spend a little more time calming down, and then we might give it a chance," the doctor says.

"You're leaving the room! I'm going to be by myself in here! There won't be anyone else! What will it matter if I'm strapped down or not?" I reply, pleading back with him. There has to be some sense, something here.

The doctor groans and shakes his head once more. "Not yet, Peeta. Give it time," he says, before turning and ushering the nurse out of the room. The door slides closed behind them, locking in place and that is it. I am alone all over again in this room, still stuck, still strapped down, and now I know for a fact that no one cares. Anyone walking in this room, anyone standing on the other side of the glass, they really do not care about me. Otherwise, they would do something for me.

Sighing, I let my head fall backwards against the bed, staring back up at the ceiling again. For a while, I try in vein to slip my hands out of the straps, cutting deeper into my wrists and ankles, but the more I do, the more it just feels pointless. Even if I do get out and tell them the truth, would they listen to me? They certainly are not now. Out of pure curiosity, I glance over at the large, tinted window, trying to study it and pick out a face, even just something similar to it, but all I see is someone who looks like me, lying on a bed, in nothing more than a paper gown. I don't look like a patient. I look like a prisoner with no rights left anymore. Then I remember. I did not have any to begin with.


	2. Two

Author's Note: As much I imagine myself in my own fantasy dream land where I frolic around a bed of flowers with the books over my head, swimming in the cash flow that Suzanne Collins is sure to have coming in, I don't own anything associated with the Hunger Games. Especially Peeta Mellark too, sadly. So, please don't let the FBI come down on me and destroy me for stealing.

With that out of the way, let me explain a little bit about this chapter. Coming up with the doctor has been, in a word, a bitch. I had a completely different vision at first, didn't like it, tried to rewrite it, threw it all out, and started over with a different doctor. But this one seems to be working. And unfortunately for Ryan, one of the readers, his name will not be Pond, Smith, Tennent, or Who. But it seems to have worked, and I have a workable character now. I hope you guys like this and hopefully, the next chapter will come along very quickly. Enjoy!

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><p>II.<p>

_My whole body feels heavy, like I can't move at all. I try my hardest to lift my head, but it's just weighed down. So, I lay there, sprawled out on the bed. I don't know how long I've been here. I've lost track of the days. I'm pretty sure I'm going crazy, and the only person that I have left to rely on is gone, probably being tortured more. The silence is going to drive me crazy._

_Suddenly, a light flashes by the high slit of a window, running across the wall from one side to the other. Before I know it, it's gone, but once it disappears, I hear speaking. Is it coming from Johanna? I try to listen to the vent under my bed. It's normally how Johanna and I communicate, and it carries our voices back and forth to each other. But the voice I'm hearing, it is not the same as her's. If it was Johanna, there would be some sharp sarcasm in the voice. More importantly, she would speak up and made sure she caught my attention, not mutter. _

_I try to lean in, but still the weight is too much. However, I can listen, and that's exactly what I did. I tried my hardest to push my hearing to the max, to pick up every word. It's hard though. All their words are muddled, running together, speaking in a low tone. Another flash of light goes across the wall, and I swear the voice gets a little louder. No…it's not talking. It is humming. Singing? In the Capitol? Can such a thing even exist? Thinking perhaps it really is Johanna, I attempt to call out to her, but my mouth feels dry and won't work. _

_The light seems to pick up speed, flashing across the wall a little fast, and with each pass, the humming gets louder, for a while changing tones, until it finds one pitch, high and straining that stabs my ears. _

_The light crosses the wall, the volume goes up. _

_The light crosses the wall again and the sound gets higher. _

_Cross, higher, cross, louder. _

_Cross._

_Louder._

_It is piercing my ears now._

_Cross._

_Louder._

_I swear, any minute my ear drums are going to break._

_Cross._

_Louder._

_Please, just make it stop already._

_Then… _I wake up.

I remember what I was doing before I realize what is going on. I was trying to break free. I had been struggling all through the night, or at least I was assuming it was night, since they dimmed the lights in my room, and had almost had my right hand free, when the lights had come back on and a nurse rushed in with Dr. Lawson right behind. I must have done some serious damage to my wrist, because now as I slowly regain feeling back in my body, as faint as it is, I can feel a soft cushion around my wrist.

They had knocked me out again. Both had rushed in, the nurse handed over a syringe filled with a clear fluid, and it had knocked me out in seconds flat. I don't know how long I have been out, what time or day it is, or even where I am, because in an instant, I know that I am definitely not in my room anymore.

I slowly open my eyes. However, a light flashes over me, blindingly bright, and I have to close my eyes again. Of course, I am still strapped down, but now, even my head is held in place by some sort of clamp. I can't turn away from the light as it comes around again. This was what I was seeing in my dream. The sound is the machine humming, changing its pitches and tones while working around me. Immediately, I start breathing a little harder, unsure of just what is going on. The light keeps passing over me, working its way up to dizzying speeds, and I've determined that I have had enough.

I start struggling once again, though it is considerably harder now with the bandage on my wrist cutting off all the extra space I had before and my head being strapped down as well. I cannot see what I am doing now. Still, I pull and push, twist and turn, squirming ever way that I can think to pull my hand out of these restraints.

There's a click and suddenly, a voice springs to life out of nowhere. "Peeta, please. I know this is frightening, but you need to stay still. Don't move. We're almost done," it says before clicking off again.

"I don't care! Get me out of here!" I shouted back over the humming.

"Just a few more minutes. Please, Peeta. It's all we ask. Just stay still," the voice said before clicking off again.

I groan, closing my eyes once more as the light flashes brightly in my eyes. I have to swallow the rising anxiety in my throat and calm my breathing as I rest there and try to wait for it to all be over. The moments drag on, as the machine still hums. Every once in a while, the voice clicks on, telling me that I'm doing so well and that it's just a few more moments, like I'm an impatient pet. I just want it over with.

"And we're done," the voice says, as finally the humming drops from its high pitch and the light slows down its spinning. Eventually it all comes to a halt and everything is silent, before the voice clicks on again. "Okay, we're going to get you out of there. Just stay with us."

All I have been doing is 'staying with them,' giving them what little patience I could while I received nothing back. There is a strange rattling sound down by my feet and then, like a door, the whole bottom wall is swings out. The long bed I am laying on rolls out into the harsh electrical light. Several nurses are waiting around, probably just waiting to stick me full of drugs again, but none of them moves.

As I lay there, wondering not if, but when they are going to pump me full of drugs again, I can't help but linger on my dream, going back to the Capitol. I still have no idea of how much time I actually was there. I only was able to keep track for the first couple of weeks, then after that, time all blended together. Especially when they started a routine, it all sank in and molded together.

As the nurses move in, I wonder if there is some sort of routine here and I will eventually sink into that one too. So far, it seems their only routine is drugs. I am expecting Dr. Lawson to hurry in and give me his usual worried glances, but instead, the nurses each take a place, two by my head and two by my feet. The two by my feet stand there, while the two by my head free me of the restraints around my forehead. Then all together with precision, they lift up the slab I am on and set it down onto a table with wheels, and then guide me out of the room. They push the table out a set of double doors and down a long white hall, with more lights passing over me from above, this time going from top to bottom, not left to right.

The more I am here, the more I being to wonder, have I really left the Capitol? It's starting to seem like I haven't. The only difference is these people are quiet here. No bossy guards outside my door, just an intercom that only turns on to tell me that I need to calm down or stay still or someone is coming to help me. Other than that, it seems the same.

_This is your punishment. You knew it was coming. You even told yourself it was coming,_ a voice says suddenly chimes up in the back of my head. Either the drugs have destroyed my sanity or I really have cracked on my own, but I swear, somewhere in the back of my head, this odd voice is a voice I recognize, a voice I know. It does not snap, nor is it judgmental. It just speaks calmly. And I cannot ignore it.

"Punishment? For what? I didn't do anything. I was only there when everything happened. What could I possibly be punished for?" I mumble back under my breath.

_You know why._

"No, I don't know why," I mumble back.

_You'll find out eventually. You just have to remember._

"I don't understand."

_You will. You did before, and you will again. _

"Why can't you just tell me now? Explain it to me."

But the voice doesn't answer. I lay there, waiting for it to speak, but it has gone mute, and I am left hanging there on a string. I notice the nurse to my right is looking at me worriedly, and I can't bear to see that horrible look of sympathy and pity, so I look away.

We pass by several white doors, before the wall stops and turns down a hallway. It takes me a moment, but things seem to slow down as we pass by. Standing there in the hallway are three men, two of which I recognize. One is a huge man, taller than the other two by a head and built, but he wears a white coat, suggesting he is one of the doctors. He is not that important to me, but standing beside him, checking his watch is Plutarch Heavensbee, someone I do recognize and just on his other side is the one person that possible could really help me. Even if it is a long shot, he would listen. I do not have enough time to get a great look at him, but I recognize him, and that's enough. "Haymitch."

Immediately, I thrash on the table, calling back to him. "HAYMITCH! DON'T LISTEN TO THEM! YOU HAVE TO GET ME OFF THIS TABLE! PLEASE, HAYMITCH! WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE! PLEASE! JUST HELP ME!" I scream back, but the nurse move faster and soon are pushing me through another set of double doors. Even though I keep screaming, no one comes after me. Quickly, I am wheeled back into my tiny room and all the nurses rush from the room, leaving just me and the echoes from my yelling and screaming.

While the last traces of my voice dies off, I am left even more confused than before. Back in the Capitol, Johanna and I had determined that Haymitch was not being held by the Capitol. That he has somehow escaped and was safe in hiding, possibly in District Thirteen as Johanna kept claiming everyone was supposed to go. If he had been there in the Capitol and under their control, they would have left us know it and shoved it in our faces as they killed him. That was exactly what they had done with others.

But Plutarch Heavensbee? He was part of the Capitol. Why would he be in District Thirteen? None of it makes sense, and yet somehow…

_It does. It does make sense. You're just not thinking clearly,_ the voice chimes in again, this time speaking in almost a whisper.

"Then how does it make sense? Just tell me that," I whisper back to him.

_You know I can't._

"Yes, you can. Now tell me."

_I told you. I can't. But you can remember. What do you remember about Plutarch Heavensbee?_

I have to stop and think about this again. He was so attached to the Games that it is hard to pick up on anything else. However, one small flicker of a memory comes to mind suddenly. The Victory Tour. He was there. And he was…dancing. With _her._

And just like that, the hissing of her name starts up again, almost on cue. Only this time I notice something…different. It is not the walls or the speakers saying her name. It is actually nothing in this room saying it. I am hearing it, but it is all in my head.

_Katniss…Katniss…Katniss…_

Plutarch is there, dancing with her. She bares these sharp, long teeth that are just dripping with green venom. Her hand forms this dark claw that is just digging into Plutarch's shoulder, turning everything it touches into tar. The deeper her claws sink, the more he begins to fall apart, nothing more than a sticky, black, grinning mess.

_Katniss…Katniss…Katniss…_

Then she's whispering something to me about him, but I do not care to hear or even look at her. Those teeth are still there and I am certain they are going to close in around my neck if her tar hand does not close on it first.

_KATNISS…KATNISS…KATNISS…_

"Stop it. Now," I hiss back.

_You're not remembering correctly_, the voice says.

"Remembering is not the problem. I just don't WANT to remember it."

_You have to. If you ever want to get out, you have to remember._

"Get out of where? Get out of this place?"

_KATNISS…KATNISS…KATNISS…_

"Shut up!"

_You have to get out. Otherwise if you don't, you might as well have stayed in the Capitol._

"Stayed in the Capitol? But I don't understand!"

_KATNISS! KATNISS! KATNISS!_

"STOP IT!"

All at once, all the voices, they all fall silent, leaving my ears ringing, a terrible pain piercing through my head, and my chest heaving up and down as if I have just run a mile. My eyes start to cloud with tears from the pain. More and more, I'm just confused and lost.

Then the intercom snaps on. "Peeta? Are you all right?"

I cannot even be bothered to lie. "No…no, I'm not."

It takes a moment or two, but eventually I blink the mist from my eyes, the intercom snaps off and the doors to the room open up. I am expecting a nurse, but instead, it is a doctor, who walks in and over to my bedside. I can tell immediately it is the same man I saw in the hallway with Plutarch and Haymitch. He is huge. Even compared to me, he's big. His shoulders are wide and thick, extending into arms about as big around as my head. He would make anyone feel small, but being tied down to a table only seemed to increase that feeling for me. But it's not just his size either that impresses. His eyes, though dull brown, seem to be studying everything.

"You were talking with Haymitch and Plutarch," I say, staring up at him.

"Yes, I was. You managed to interrupt our conversation," he answers back, crossing his arms. It only makes him seem thicker. The way he talks, it in a low growling sound, but not one that sounds angry. Just a low rumble like thunder far away.

"I wanted to talk to Haymitch," I answer back.

"Never would have guessed." He sighs and eventually drops his arms. "Who were you talking to just now?"

I pause for a moment, before letting out a long exhale and turning away from him. "No one, apparently." I try to ignore the pain in my head and the thought of those voices, especially the hissing one. So, I don't pay much attention when he leans down by my bandaged wrist. There is no point in checking it. I know, without being looking at it that my struggles when I called for Haymitch had cut it open again. A line of blood was probably already forming underneath the bandages..

However, that is not what he is doing. There is a snap and immediately the restraint on my wrist zips off. I look down in shock, as the doctor leans over me and undoes the other one. He moves down to my stomach as I move my arms, twist my wrists, stretch out my aching and locked up joints. The strap comes off my torso and I am able to sit up. He finishes with my ankles and I swing my feet off the bed, standing up apprehensively, unsure of what the doctor would do. However, he just simply steps back and allows me to stretch out my joints.

"Better?" he asks.

I eye him, still unsure, but nod. "Yeah."

"I can't guarantee that you are free from them forever, but for now, I figured you'd appreciate it. Besides, you're not going to hurt me, are you?"

I can't help but think that even if I wanted to, I never would be able to do anything or inflict any kind of harm, but I just keep silent and shake my head no.

"Good. I figured you wouldn't, but it's still nice to know," he answers.

I sigh and sink down on the bed. So, that's what this is about. They assume I am just going to hurt anyone I come in contact with. At least it explains the straps I have to wear. Still, I can't help but find it ridiculous. I'm not out to hurt anyone. At least not anyone in general. I just take a long moment, rubbing my wrists where the bandages are.

"By the way," the large man says, cutting the silence and putting a hand out, "I'm Doctor Berend. I'm going to be the doctor you see for a while. So you might want to get used to me now."

I look up at him and his gruff, hard face with dark, hard eyes. There are lines that cross back and forth on his face and a few streaks of grey in his hair, making him appear older than he probably is. Then, I look at his hand. On the back of it, I can see a faint scar across the back of his wrist, radiating out into for different lines almost like a spider web that reached up to his fingers. Surgical scars. They have to be. They look too much like the ones I have on my left leg. Eventually, I just bite the bullet and take his hand. He squeezes mine firmly as we shake, getting properly introduced.

"No more Doctor Lawson?" I ask as our hands fall apart.

"Nope. Just me. I'm going to be your doctor now."

As I look up into those dark eyes, only two words come to my mind, but they seem to fit the best for the situation. So, I simply give them to him.

"Good luck."


	3. Three

Author's Note: It might just be me, but this chapter is definitely seems longer than the others. So, I apologize for that. I got halfway through this chapter and then realized I had almost missed a part in Mockingjay, but I added it right at the end. Also, on that same note, I really need to add the whole "the Hunger Games does not belong to me" speech, because I literally take the words directly from the book and put them in here. So, here goes. I do not, I repeat, DO NOT own the Hunger Games series, no matter how much I wish I did. The character and several words in this chapter absolutely do not belong to me. I am just borrowing then on a temporary loan, and then I'll return them when I'm done. Thank you, Ms. Collins.

Anyway, I hope this goes well, and you all like it.

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><p>III.<p>

Since Dr. Berend's introduction, I have been alone. I am still trying to figure out if this is a good or a bad thing, but so far, it seems all right. However, it had only been from what I could tell, a day or so, but I'm too concerned with other happy developments to worry too much. No more straps. I can walk around the room, lie down on the floor, stare at the ceiling, wait by the door for meals. In fact, that's another step up too. No more needles. I am allowed to eat real food now too. Of course, it is not exactly ideal. The food portions are small and I happen to be starving most of the time. Then again, I have always been hungry for most of my life. It is a feeling I'm used to. It's the taste though. The food I eat is horrible. It might just be that I came from the Capitol and the few meals I did get while being held captive were delicious, but the food here is absolutely disgusting. Still, I cannot complain too much. Eating disgusting, balanced-out food is better than getting all my nutrients through a tube and a needle.

However, most of my time is spent sitting with my back in the corner, and watching the whole room. The table, the lights, the walls, the window, and the door. It is all in my sight, just how I want it. Occasionally, I'll get up to walk around the room and stretch my legs, but that corner is where I feel the safest, where I can watch them while they watch me.

As I sit there now, I'm studying the frame around the blacked out window. It looks like it's reinforced, something similar to what the windows were like in the Capitol. They're serious about me not doing any harm to anyone, I suppose. Or perhaps any harm to myself, I can't help but think as I rub my wrists once more.

A speaker clicks on suddenly, snapping me back to attention. "Peeta, will you please sit up on the bed? Dr. Berend is coming in to see you," a voice says on the other side.

I sigh and manage to lift myself up to my feet, walking over to the bed and hoisting myself up on it. My feet barely dangle off the side. It takes a moment, but the door eventually slides open and the doctor walks in, carrying a clipboard. I can't help but glare at that clipboard. Dr. Lawson had one and he never said anything but bad news. Granted, Effie carried one too, but that wasn't exactly a positive situation either. Funny sometimes when we were behind on her schedule, but not completely positive. Behind him, a very brave, dark-haired nurse follows in, wheeling a cart and shooting worried glances at me.

"Hello Peeta," the doctor says. I don't answer. "I figured we could talk while I change your bandages."

Again, I keep silent, but that doesn't seem to mind him too much. He just waves the nurse away and sets his clipboard down. Gratefully, the nurse leaves while Berend steps over to the small cart, picking up the supplies he needs. With everything he needed, he set to work on my right hand, cutting off the bandages and examining the cuts I had inflicted on myself. I look anywhere, but where he is working, and eventually my eyes fall back on the window.

"You like looking at that mirror, huh?" he asks.

"It's not a mirror. It's a window," I answer back, keeping my voice even.

Berend scuffed and shook his head. "Smart too. They obviously don't give you much credit around here. They had me thinking you didn't know anything about this place," he said.

"They? So there are multiple people behind it watching me?" I ask, staring at it hard.

"Right now, just a few. Mostly doctors. They're observing you. Though I'm guess you've known that too," he said.

I pause before nodding. Berend moves away from me, throwing the bandages away. I take my eyes from the window and finally glance down at my wrist now that it's bare. There's an obvious fabric burn around it, with skin rubbed raw in a line just on the back of my wrist. It is scabbed over, red and angry. Sure, they were doing their best to heal it, but eventually, it would scar over and I doubt they would allow me another body polish.

"So…what else are you planning on doing with me?" I ask out of the blue, not caring for other people's feelings much anymore or choosing my words carefully. I just want the answers.

Berend stops for a moment with the bandages in hand. He scuffs again, before continuing his work. "Not much for small talk, I see," he mutters. "Well, that's a complicated question. The short answer is just make you better, but the long answer is a lot more complicated, probably take up a lot more time with plenty technical terms." He put my hand in place, up in the air and held out in front of me, and started going around it with the fresh bandages.

"I've got all the time in the world right now," I answer back.

He stops for a moment and looks at me, before nodding his head. "You're right. You do," he says. "Let's see…where should we start?" For a moment, he pauses, pressing his lips together and forming a clear crease in his brow as he thinks it over. Eventually, he let's out a breath, before reaching for a pair of scissors. "Well, I'm sure you remember all the tests the other doctors ran when you first got here. Physicals, blood tests, the scanner."

I nod. How could I not remember?

"All of them were to find out what kind of condition the Capitol had been keeping you in, and from looking over your charts, in a small way you were lucky. You, unlike some of the others that were rescued, were in the best physical condition. Fed regularly, some bruising and a little bit of damage to your muscles, a few stress fractures here and there, but like I said, much better than the others. Though, we're operating under the assumption that it was for the interview's sake that they kept you in such good condition."

Interviews. My mind flashes back to the Capitol, and the strange incidents of being dragged out of my cell, thinking I was going to end up tortured, only to end up in a room with Portia once more, getting dressed up and having make up put on my face. Before hand, there would always be a period of time when a Capitol official would sit me down and explain how the interview was expected to go, just what I was supposed to say, and how I was supposed to act, even filling me in on all the small extra details I would need, though right now at the moment, I can't particularly recall them all. A sort of fog starts to slip in, hanging over the memories of the sessions before the interviews. Then from there, it was the strange, almost out of body experiences of once more being sat down in front of Caesar Flickerman, being interviewed like it was still the Hunger Games and there wasn't a very real, very large, and very deadly war going on outside.

Deep down, I always knew why they were keeping me in a better cell with better conditions. Talking with Johanna through the vents, she always said how lucky I was, getting better food that she could smell, not having to go to daily torture sessions like her, bigger quarters, bigger bed, better treatment. But hearing it said out loud, even when Johanna said it, I never really wanted to admit it was true. It was though. I was kept alive just because of the interviews and their usefulness. I held some power, as little as it might have been and could sway people's opinions, though I had always gone away doubted that I had done any good. Even now, I can barely recall their importance.

I turn my attention back to the doctor as he tapes the bandages down into place, then moves on to the other hand. "However, there were…other effects done to you while you were there," he says.

"Like what?" I ask.

He pauses once more, looking at me with his dark eyes. "Peeta…what exactly do you remember about your last few days in the Capitol?"

Once again, I slip back into my memories. However, unlike the memories of the interviews, nothing really comes back. Just fuzzy mixtures of different things, faces I can't really see…or want to see. It's mostly darkness and a lot of waking up. It seems the fog has slipped over through these memories too. It takes me a moment before I glance back at him. "Not much, actually. That's what this has to do with though…right?"

"Yes," he says. Immediately, I sigh and look down. I don't have to say a word for him to continue. "It's not completely confirmed, but with the help of information from the Capitol and those tests, I believe they have a good picture of what did happen."

"And just what did happen?" I ask.

He stops what he is doing with my wrist and looks at me, eye to eye, reading me, probably trying to determine if I can or cannot handle the truth. Eventually, he takes a step back, letting my hand drop, and walks over to my side. He sits down on the bed beside me, which groans slightly under both our weights and retrains those dark eyes on me.

"In all the blood work tests, your results came back with traces of tracker jacker venom in your blood. When you first came in and they ran the test the first time, the rest of the team had thought it was wrong, because it was still pretty strong, but the second time confirmed it. It's still in you. Faintly, but it's there, and not just in your blood, but hiding in your tissues. You've been stung before, right? You remember what it was like?"

I have to dig through my mind for a third time, back to the first Games, being there with the Careers, ordered around, kept just for my information. Everything up to that moment was a bit fuzzy, but the moment that nest fell and the tracker jackers were set loose in the air, everything was crisp and clear, the feelings and emotions refreshing themselves in my system as I replay it in my mind. Nothing was straight at all, running didn't help, and the stings hurt so much. But for some reason though, I had doubled back towards the nest. Why had I doubled back again? Confusion must read across my face, because Doctor Berend breaks in, interrupting my thoughts.

"It's all right if you don't. I was just simply asking, for reference," he says.

I shake my head and look back at him. "No. I remember. Everything was off, and…and my dad…and brothers…I saw them, but I really didn't. And…someone else…"

Before I can think of who though, Berend continues. "You felt afraid though, right? Paranoid, even? That's what the venom does. It targets the part of your brain that makes you feel fear, that fight or flight response, and repeatedly triggers those emotions. It also creates hallucinations, which I'm sure you can remember as well."

This time, I cut him off. "You're saying they purposely stung me," I say. The words do not come out like a question, but instead, like a statement.

"Perhaps not stung, but definitely injected the venom somehow into you. Your arm, you wouldn't let the doctors touch it when you first arrived. I'm assuming that's where they injected it, where the large swelling was. That or, and this is all judging from your tests, they had simply injected that arm so many times, it was sore from the injections. Or a combination of both."

I pause for a moment, staring down at my arm. It was still sore, still hurting, but much less than before. I ran a hand over it as a few memories started to resurface. There were more straps there, holding me in place like when I had been scanned. And a needle, always in that same arm. I would struggle against it, fight so it wouldn't be stuck in, but it always ended up in my arm some way or another. Then…a screen…flickering to life…

I press my memory for more, but I only get one small answer.

_Katniss…_

"Either way, they used the venom on you, and we are trying to determine the extent of just how much it has affected you. Some people completely go mad, but for now, you seem to stand a lot more chance than some of them," Berend says, standing up once more and going back to my wrist. With all this new knowledge floating around, I try to process it all, but my mind is fuzzy, swimming somewhere between the fading Capitol memory and the present. I try so hard to process it that I barely catch him speaking once more.

"I have to ask you, Peeta. How would you feel if I brought in a visitor for you?"

"A visitor? Who?" I ask back.

"A friend of yours. I'm sure you remember her when you see her," he says. "Of course, it's up to you if you want this visitor in here. I have to tell you. There will be a few rules if you agree. Unfortunately, you'll have to strapped down again. Just as a precaution, but it won't be permanent. And I'm sure you'll have realized that we'll be watching as well from the other side of the window. However, it'll be just the two of you in here alone. You can talk about whatever you like."

A visitor. I had only ever seen nurses and doctors. And besides, who would be here? Who would honestly want to visit me? My mind runs through several people, going to one in particular. Haymitch. I just saw him the other day. Maybe they're going to allow him to finally speak with me? Or even better. My father. I'm aching to see him again, alive and well. He would say something to make me feel better, cheer me up like he always does. We could joke for a bit. Then I stop. No, Berend said she. It's a female. Johanna? She had to have escaped. I want to think so, but I am not all the way sure. I groan inwardly at the thought of it being my mother. Would she honestly want to visit me?

Then of course, one last name surfaces.

_Katniss…_

I let out a breath and go over the possibilities one more time, before sighing. I wanted freedom, and at least I could get a small taste of it from a visitor.

"Yes. Please," I answer back.

"Good," Berend says with a smile, before finishing the bandage on my wrist, and going to put the instruments away. He takes a while, putting his things back in order, before eventually coming back over to help strap me down. I lay back, allowing the strap to confine me. I'm itching to already get them off, clenching and unclenching my fists repeatedly. As the doctor tilts the table slightly upright, he notices my displeasure. "I told you already, Peeta. Once we're done, they're off again. This is just temporary," he says.

I still sigh, and look away, once again going silent on him. I just try to go through in my mind the possible female visitors I could have. Eventually, Berend takes his cart over to the door, wishing me luck, and I am just left there alone. I keep continuing to move my fingers, stretching them, cracking my knuckles, and clawing my fingernails into the table. It takes a while, surprisingly a lot longer than I would have thought, before the door opens to the room.

I look over immediately, surprised by the figure standing there. I know her. She is so familiar, and yet…different from how I remember her. Not my mother or Johanna, but I know her. There's just one problem. The fog in my mind had clouded her name. That or it just really has been a long time.

She walks a bit closer to me, her yellow hair pulled back into a braid that hangs over her shoulder, and breaks into a bright smile that I know I've seen before plenty of times. I don't really return the smile though like I know I have so many times before.

"Peeta? It's Delly. From home."

"Delly?" I taste the name on my tongue and it fits. My fog lifts a little and I remember home, District Twelve, and her shoe shop just across the street from the bakery. She and I would often meet on her side of the street when we were children, before running around, doing errands for our parents, or just playing together. She's definitely changed, thinner now that I remember and there's something behind her eyes. It's hard to tell, but just something is different, more than a few pounds shed. "Delly. It's you," I say, happy with something a little familiar.

"Yes!" She smiles a little brighter as I remember a little more. She's my friend. She has been for a long time. She'll know just what is going on, and most importantly, she'll give me answers. I hold on to this thought as she continues. "How do you feel?"

"Awful," I say simply. Questions. I need ask her questions. "Where are we? What's happened?"

Her smile shrinks slightly, as she looks down. "Well…we're in District Thirteen. We live here now."

I think of the nurses mentioning it when I first was here, but I never believed them. "That's what those people have been saying. But it makes no sense. Why aren't we home?"

She chews on her lip. "There was…an accident."

Accident. No, for some reason that word doesn't fit in my head.

_Katniss..._

I search my memory as Delly continues.

"I miss home badly, too. I was only just thinking about those chalk drawings we used to do on the paving stones. Yours were so wonderful. Remember when you made each one a different animal?"

These images come a little easier to the front of my mind, as I think back to a warm, Spring morning in District Twelve, both of us out in front of her shoe store, myself working so hard to get the wings of a bird and the fines of a fish just right. "Yeah," I answer. "Pigs and cats and things." But I won't be deterred. "You said…about an accident?"

She hesitates for a moment, before speaking again. "It was bad. No one…could stay." However, even if Delly had hesitated, she is quick to continue. "But I know you're going to like it here, Peeta. The people have been really nice to us. There's always food, clean clothes, and school's much more interesting."

As much I know Delly is trying, none of what she is saying is making me feel better. I want my father here, my brothers, and that thought makes words spill from my mouth. "Why hasn't my family come to see me?"

I can see Delly's eyes beginning to fog up. "They can't. A lot of people didn't get out of Twelve." She says more, but I don't hear any of it. A lot of people…that means my family didn't make it out. But then again…it doesn't feel like too much of a shock. It's as if…I knew it before.

Slowly, the fog lifts a little and I can properly recall the Capitol. Portia was sitting at my side, gripping my hand as a Capitol official pressed a button. A screen appeared and he began the briefing beforehand. I was going to be interviewed today, even though it was the last thing I wanted to be doing. I almost would have taken the torture Johanna talked about constantly over what I was about to do. Still, he went through all the things that had been happening, laying out the questions and my answers, showing me clips from other Districts to inspire some kind of sympathy in me. Eventually, as he started to come to a close, he halted and looked at me.

"Oh, and there's one more clip I need to show you. The Capitol has been saving it, but you'll need to know it for the interviews," he said nonchalantly. He presses another button and a new clip flashes to the screen. Portia grips my hands a little harder, drawing in a breath, though I don't know why.

It's home. District 12 on the screens, but from above. The Seam, the small streets, the square. It all seems so different from this angle…it's something a bird would see, flying over the District.

_Katniss..._

"Peeta, don't look," Portia hisses under her breath, but the official snaps at her, hushing her up, and directs all our attention back to the screen. One moment, home was there, the next, flames.

"There was a fire," I say, breaking out of my memory, back to now.

"Yes," Delly whispers.

"Twelve burned down, didn't it?"

_Katniss…_

And just like that, all the puzzle pieces fit together in my head again. "Because of her." I look back at Delly, feeling the hatred rise back up in my chest. "Because of Katniss!" Suddenly, my fingers at itching for her again, remembering the feel of her throat under my fingers. It's payback for all the times she was trying to strangle me, after all.

"Oh, no, Peeta. It wasn't her fault," Delly insists.

_Katniss…_

More anger flares up. So, _she's_ gotten to Delly too? Not for long.

"Did she tell you that?" I snap.

Delly stumbles over her words now, as the door opens and she backs away from me, but I'm pulling against my restraints, trying to get forward. "She didn't have to. I was –" she says, but I cut her off.

"Because she's lying! She's a liar! You can't believe anything she says! She's some kind of mutt the Capitol created to use against the rest of us!" No more questions. I just want the truth out.

_Katniss…_

"No, Peeta. She's not a –"

"Don't trust her, Delly. I did, and she tried to kill me."

_Katniss…_

"She killed my friends."

_Katniss._

"My family."

_Katniss!_

"Don't go near her! She's a mutt!"

The hisses grows louder and louder in my ears. It's so loud, I can't deny it. I barely notice Delly being pulled out of the room and the doors sliding closed again. I'm too wrapped up in the hissing.

_Katniss…Katniss…KATNISS!_

I can't help but keep screaming, following what it's telling me. "A mutt! She's a stinking mutt!" I am ripping against my restraints, pulling hard and ruining the new bandages.

I need to get her. I need to kill her. I have to kill her. She needs to die.

I scream and yell, trying to call for anyone's attention, but I only get the attention of one. The same tentative, dark-haired nurse from before enters the room with a syringe. "No! Listen to me! You have to listen! She's a mutt! I need to kill her. Let me go and I'll do it! Let me go!" She walks over and has to press down on my arm to keep me from moving, but eventually, she sticks in the needle into my arm. After fighting and screaming for a moment longer, the medicine kicks in and everything in the white room turns black. I'm quickly put out, but the hissing doesn't stop.


End file.
